This Is What I Want to Tell You (9 page)

I shivered at the sight of him.

Hey, you, he said.

He leaned over to kiss me, slipping his hand inside my shirt.

I like this shirt, he said.

I missed you, I whispered. I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Yeah? He pulled me out of the chair.

Let’s go, he said.

Really?

You wanna go places. Let’s go to this party.

He held my hand as we walked down the stairs and the whole way to the party, but it was still like I wasn’t even there. His hand felt cold and he barely talked the whole way. The party was at the same house where he first kissed me, only there were way less people there. Right away when we walked in he looked around, nervous. He kissed the top of my head.

I’ll be around, okay? I’ll find you.

I felt paralyzed. I stood alone in the hallway for a minute. I didn’t belong here. Should I leave? Why did he even bring me? My mouth felt dry and I wanted to sit down. I walked down the hallway, past a couple whispering in a doorway. They didn’t even look at me. See, I thought. They don’t care. No one even notices I’m here.

I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

I was standing in the kitchen.

The skeleton girl with red boots was standing at the sink. She was holding an empty glass and smoking a cigarette. She was still wearing the red boots, and some kind of short black dress with a thick belt cinched around her waist. In the kitchen light she looked less like a skeleton and more like a tired model with delicate narrow wrists and puffy eyes and bright red lips. Her nails were painted dark purple—like perfect moons. I thought her nail polish would be chipped. It wasn’t. It was flawless.

Hi, I said.

She looked up at me. She looked down at her glass.

Do you want some whiskey?

Okay.

She turned around and pulled another glass down from the cabinet. She poured whiskey into both glasses and handed me one. The glass had a film of dust around it. I took a sip and my throat stung. I took another sip.

Do you live here? I asked the girl.

Sometimes.

I’m Noelle. I held out my hand. She held it limply.

Dana.

We stood there for a while. She smoked. I looked at my glass.

You’re with Parker? she finally said.

I didn’t know what to say. It occurred to me that he might not say yes if someone asked him if he were with me. In fact, he probably wouldn’t say anything.

Sort of.

Dana looked down at her glass. She smiled. I was kind of surprised to see her smile. It made her seem more something. More human.

One can only ever sort of be with Parker.

I remembered her staring at me the first night. Suddenly my skin felt cold.

What do you mean?

She looked up. Her face had softened suddenly. I wanted her to tell me things. I wanted to tell her things. I felt, right then, like Dana was going to tell me something very true and important and maybe even become my friend.

Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mean I’m sleeping with him or anything. Not anymore, she said.

My throat closed.

Parker has been my friend for a long time. I love Parker. But I’m not his girlfriend.

Oh.

Parker’s just complicated. You’re never going to get a whole lot of him.

I took another sip of my whiskey. My hand was shaking.

I mean, physically he’ll act like he wants to give you anything you want, but emotionally he won’t give you an inch. You know?

Dana laughed. It occurred to me that I should feel threatened by her, but I felt thankful.

Yeah, I know, I said. I thought it was me.

Dana held out her pack of cigarettes. I took one.

It’s not you. It seems like he likes you.

How can you tell?

She lit my cigarette.

The way he looks at you.

Yeah?

Here’s the thing about Parker, Dana said. He’ll make you feel really beautiful one second …

And like you’re not even there the next?

She smiled again.

Yeah. But listen, Noelle, I’m just telling you the truth. He’s my friend. There’s something about him. It’s like, he just has this something about him.

I know, I said. I held out my glass. Can I have some more whiskey?

Dana emptied the bottle into both of our glasses. Then she held hers up.

To Parker, she said.

Cheers.

Come with me to the soup kitchen, I said at breakfast.

Noelle looked up from her coffee mug. She pushed her hair back and stared at me.

Keeley, who’d just come in the side door, turned from the tea kettle she was watching on the stove.

Okay, they both said at the same time.

I don’t know why I was surprised. I was the one who asked. But I wasn’t sure where it had come from. I hadn’t been there since Molly left, since before the summer. I’d definitely never brought anyone with me. But that Saturday morning it felt like what I wanted to do. I wanted to remember all of the things I’d spent my time on before.

Cool, I said. We leave in twenty minutes.

In less than an hour we were climbing the stairs at the St. Francis Community Center. It was still early and folding tables lined the back wall. A few volunteers were placing chairs at round tables around the room and Ben, who was the pastor who ran the soup kitchen, was lifting a steaming dish onto the back table. His gray beard swam behind the steam coming up from the dish. Keeley and Noelle stood next to me, hands pulled up inside their sleeves. I’d never noticed they both stood that way, kneading their fingers into the ends of their sleeves.

Hey, I said. Carol.

Carol looked up from the back of the room. Her glasses slid low on her nose. Carol was in her sixties and she and Ben had helped start the soup kitchen after the Vietnam war about a hundred years ago when, she’d told me once, there seemed to be a flood of men who couldn’t keep a home and needed a hot meal. She waved to me and walked slowly over.

We’ve missed you, young man, she said.

I’m sorry. This year has been …

But we’re glad you’re here now.

Carol was never one for excuses. She wanted volunteers however she could get them.

You must be the twin sister. She held her hand out and Noelle took it.

And the best friend, Carol said, each of her hands holding one of theirs. Come this way and we’ll get you two started on the biggest vat of fruit salad you’ve ever seen.

As the three of them walked away I could see them laughing. I hadn’t seen that in such a long time—Noelle laughing and Keeley laughing and all of us in one place doing something that felt like normal and wasn’t about all of these things we were trying to keep from each other.

Well, he’s back. Ben handed me an oversized dish of lettuce and pale tomatoes and pointed to the end of the table.

I’m sorry I haven’t been around this year, I said. I hadn’t anticipated all the guilt I was suddenly feeling. We had never attended church once in our lives and Lace had raised us without a suggestion of religious faith, but two years ago I’d answered a call for volunteers on a sign posted outside the church and Ben had become my unofficial mentor, teacher, maybe even father figure (I’m sure he knew about Molly). But that last part I might be imagining.

Just glad to see you now, he said.

Your sister? He nodded his head toward Carol, handing me a paper bag of bread.

Yeah, I said. And her—my—

Ben raised his eyebrow.

My girlfriend. Keeley.

Ben nodded.

Let’s get this sliced, he said. He handed me a serrated knife and we stood side by side, hacking at the mostly stale loaves.

Actually, I said, she’s my sister’s best friend too.

Ben sliced.

But my sister doesn’t really know about us—it’s like, it happened sort of unexpectedly, me and Keeley. I guess when you know someone for a long time, it’s kind of shocking when you start to see her in a totally different light. You know?

Ben smiled.

This is an important time in your life, he said.

You mean—?

I simply mean it’s an important time.

Yeah, I said. I hoped he wasn’t talking about sex. I had the feeling he wasn’t but I couldn’t be sure.

Anyway. My sister doesn’t know.

I imagine that feels very difficult for both of you.

Well, yeah. We’re—I think we’re figuring out how to tell her.

Even though Ben didn’t say anything, even though he just nodded and raised one eyebrow at a time, I felt somehow better.

Carol lined me and Noelle and Keeley up behind the service table. Lasagna, salad, bread. Noelle, Keeley, me. We didn’t say much, but Noelle and Keeley giggled into each others shoulders as the old men flirted with them and it was kind of nice to watch.

Hey, how about I cook for you? he asked.

We were tangled together on the couch, his face against my neck. I was as usual struggling to decide how far I could let this go. Wanted to let this go.

Really? All the muscles in my stomach, chest, arms, every muscle seemed to flood slowly out into the couch. Relaxed.

Yeah, he said. He sat up.

Yeah, I snagged some stuff from the restaurant. I wanna try something.

Okay, I said. I’d love that.

He stood up, pressing down on my leg as he did. Then he stopped, looking down at me.

One catch, he said.

What?

You gotta stay like that. No putting your shirt back on.

I looked down. My stretched-out black bra, dotted with tiny gray lint pills. My skin was white-blue already against the cool air of the room.

It’s cold, I said. Not to mention I felt ridiculous. Which I didn’t say out loud.

Too bad, he grinned, walking away. You look hot, he said and walked into the kitchen.

I sat up. The white skin of my stomach rolled just slightly over the waist of my jeans. I knew I wasn’t fat, but the waist of my jeans cut just exactly wrong into the skin of my stomach. I decided I wouldn’t sit down. In my socks and jeans and old bra, I padded into the kitchen.

Parker had his head inside the fridge. He pulled out a few plastic bags filled with leaves and turned around.

Okay, he said. He was smiling. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile that way. He opened the cabinet and pulled a giant book down.

What are all of these plants? I asked, pointing at the tiny pile of plastic bags as he flipped through the pages.

Herbs, he said, not looking up.

And that? I touched the top of the book.

My bible, he said. Suddenly he snapped the book shut, tucked it back in the cabinet and turned to fill a pot with water.

You don’t need the recipe?

Nah, I never use recipes. I was just checking something.

I opened the cabinet door and looked at the spine of the book.
Larousse Gastronomique
was etched into the spine.